


Before The True Lives Of The Fabulous Killjoys

by spookydallons



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Danger Days Era, Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys, Emo Quartet, Killjoy verse, M/M, backstory! lots of it, killjoy backstory, lots of bandom cameos, more characters tbc, pre music video canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-08-20 06:27:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16550672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookydallons/pseuds/spookydallons
Summary: It's the year 2016, three years before the events of Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys.Gerard Way is a privileged Battery City born-and-bred citizen, now fending for himself in renegade infested territory.The birth of the biggest rebel group to grace the deserts of post-apocalyptic California is imminent.





	Before The True Lives Of The Fabulous Killjoys

**Author's Note:**

> i actually wrote a little danger days one shot for the kick of it a year or two back. i've been thinking of continuing it so i'm (re)uploading it here! hope y'all like it

Gerard rubs his bloodied jaw, the bitter taste of pennies filling his mouth. He’d only been out of the city for little over an hour, and he’d already been mugged. The desert didn’t take kindly to the scrawny nineteen-year-old, clearly. With the harsh rays of the desert sun beating down on his back, he’d been left tired, thirsty, and aching all over.

Why, oh why did he have to push his luck? His past nineteen years in Battery City were comfortable- comfortable enough- and he was better off than most. The Way family were relatively well off, he had food to eat, clothes on his back, and a respectable career path pre-planned for him. Some kids weren’t so lucky, some were shipped off to factories and offices once they were of age to work, doomed to lives of manual labour and low class living for the rest of their miserable, insignificant lives. 

But Gerard was curious. He liked pushing boundaries. He liked doing things he wasn’t supposed to, just so he could understand why.

But maybe he’d gone a little far this time. The consequences for leaving the walled sanctuary that was Battery City- if he got caught- meant an increase in his dosage and house arrest. It wouldn’t have been so bad if Gerard hadn’t been off the pill for the past five years. The violent increase in his dosage could literally kill him.

But that was the least of his worries. How the hell was he supposed to even find his way back home?

As a child, he’d been told horror stories of the savages that lived out here in the desert plains- animalistic, barely human terrorists left to fend for themselves like wild beasts. Abandoned by society and left to be preyed on by mother Nature’s wrath herself, they were the scum of the earth, the lowest of the low, undeserving of having a life within the sanctified walls of the city. Savages indeed. 

Gerard should have seen where his parents were coming from. Once he was outed as a privileged city boy far from home- wasn’t that hard, really, what with him not stinking entirely of sweat and dried blood- they’d ambushed him, took everything he had before he even had the chance to fight back. 

The sun was setting now, its golden rays slowly fading out into a dull, pinkish hue in the sky, stretching out, seemingly, to the ends of the earth. It was a pretty sight to be seen, really, but Gerard knew it was only a matter of time before sunlight abandoned him to an inky blackness of nothing, and that was when he’d know to start panicking.

He didn’t know why, but his thoughts flitted back to his brother, Mikey. Michael Way was probably the only friend Gerard had had in this miserable world, and if he were to die here of dehydration or homicide or anything else, his only regret would have been not telling his baby brother enough that he loved him. 

There was nothing left for Gerard to do, though, except to keep forcing his limbs to move and move until he found shelter for the night. He’d abandoned his heavy shoes by then- Gerard loved the feeling of warm sand between his toes instead of the usual cold, hard flooring beneath his feet. He’s left alone to his own silence. 

But not for long. At first, he thinks he’s imagining it, the sounds passing over his head like white noise. But as it gets louder and the spot of orange in the distance begins to take shape, he realises he’s stumbled across what must have been a campfire. 

The first thing that hits him is a pang of jealousy. For one, the kid sitting cross-legged by the flickering flames of his rather small fire is holding a guitar. A little chipped at the edges and missing a string or two, but still good. All forms of music were outlawed in the city, much less musical instruments, and here this kid was- with something Gerard would gladly trade most anything for. Gerard usually got by with illegal music tapes he’d traded the sewer rats with for sandwiches or cans of soda- where they got their supply from, he had no idea. One of them in particular, this small guy called Frank, told him that the tapes were leftovers from the aftermath of the Great Fires.

The second thing he realises is that- he knows that kid.

Gerard had to do a double take on that. He squints into the darkness, what little light there is illuminating the boy’s face doesn’t make it easy for him to be identified. But there’s no mistaking the kid’s voice, or the size of his forehead. 

Brendon Urie was a weird kid, even weirder than Gerard was, by society’s standards. He was that one oddball in class who talked too much and worried too little, who tried to stick out instead of fit in, even if that meant that he had no friends and horrible grades. Adults saw him as a bad kid, his peers were scared of him, but he was just a little too smiley for Gerard’s liking. Other than that, he seemed okay. 

A month before graduation, he just stopped turning up for classes altogether. Although nobody seemed to care, the sudden disappearance of Brendon’s apparent omnipresence was definitely felt, and Gerard couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to him. 

He was out here in the desert, apparently, still looking as smiley as ever. 

And he wasn’t alone this time. There was another kid with him, sitting across him behind their poorly constructed fire with a plastic cup in his hand. Even from where he stood, Gerard could make out the dent in his glasses and the smudge of dried blood on his cheek. Rough times. 

Both boys were talking and laughing- Brendon was just as animated as Gerard remembered, his words ricocheting off him like bullets as he gestures wildly to prove whatever point he was making. The other boy was a lot more mellow in comparison, nodding quietly and letting Brendon do most of the talking, occasionally chipping in to add a word of his own in or two. They had nothing with them- no tent, no nothing- save for what looked like two sleeping bags rolled up beside them. 

Gerard steps closer, neither of them has noticed him yet. 

“And then- and then- oh my god- he’s all up in that jerk’s face like-“ Brendon’s voice drops, more aggressive this time, “’Yo, fuck you man, I do whatever the hell I want’.” He bursts into a fit of giggles as if it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard. “And Brendon Urie, Brendon Urie had nothing to do with the entire thing. Patrick, please. You gotta believe me.”

A chilly gust of wind blows by, and Gerard is once again made aware of just how cold it can get at night. He shivers as the wind bites deep into his skin, he had no more jacket to protect him now- even that had been stolen from him earlier.

“Trick. Patty-cakes. Stop staring at me like that.” Brendon snaps his fingers impatiently in the bespectacled boy’s face- Patrick, apparently- and it’s only then that Gerard realises that Patrick’s been watching him silently. He’s behind Brendon and can just make out the faint outline of a spider embroidered in the back of his bomber jacket. Brendon doesn’t smell very good either. For some reason, he stinks of petroleum and expired food, smells foreign to Gerard’s privileged city bred nose. 

Patrick shakes his head, gestures for Brendon to look behind him. He does, and his confused frown splits instantaneously into a wide grin. “Dude. I know you. Jared Way, right?”

“It’s Gerard-“ He’s cut off as Brendon pulls him into a bone crushing hug, completely disregarding his personal space boundaries and throwing them out the window. 

“Duuuude. I haven’t seen you since graduation.” Brendon is unsurprisingly, pleasantly warm too, tempting Gerard slightly to rip the jacket off his shoulders and run. 

“Graduation? You were at graduation?” Gerard pulls away, the crackling fire behind them doing little to help illuminate the other boy’s features. He can tell Brendon’s excited though, judging by that maddening Cheshire Cat grin and the way he’s bouncing on the balls of his feet. Brendon really hadn’t changed since Gerard had last seen him. 

Brendon’s grin doesn’t falter. “I was.”

“No you weren’t.”

“I think-“ Patrick cuts in politely, somewhat apologetic at his own intervention, “- we should offer him some food first. It’s awfully far from the city and it’s getting late too.”

“I don’t intend on going back.”

Gerard’s words surprises himself as much as it does Patrick. Brendon doesn’t seem too bothered, humming to himself as if he doesn’t realise what Gerard’s suggesting. Maybe he doesn’t know. Maybe he doesn’t care. 

Patrick knows as much as Gerard does that no city kid in their right mind would leave the city on their own accord. Permanently. There are desert stragglers fighting to cross the border and sneak their way into a presumably better life, and here Gerard is throwing his own away. 

“Well, then-“ Patrick looks amused. “So. What did you do?”

It never really occurred to him how real his current situation had become. He’d made the active decision to take control of his fate instead of obediently allowing Battery City to throw him wherever they pleased like a rag doll in exchange for a stable, safe life with his parents and brother. He had no shelter, no friends out here in the desert, yet for the first time in his nineteen years of living, he had the ability to choose whatever it was that was going to happen to him. And it felt liberating.

He had no idea what was going to happen to him next, and he welcomed that alien air of uncertainty with open arms. 

Patrick raises an eyebrow at him, as if still waiting for a response. Brendon pulls Gerard by the arm to sit down next to him and he complies, pulling his knees up to his chest as he plops down on what he assumes to be Brendon’s sleeping bag. It’s latexy and plastic, a dull unpleasant ache kicking at Gerard’s gut as he realises that it’s Battery City property. Even out here in the wastelands, there’s still remnants, signs that he’ll never be able to completely shake off the hand of the puppeteer that pulls at his strings from birth to death. 

That is, until Gerard finds a way to sever the goddamn strings himself. 

“What’d you mean, what did I do?” Gerard stares at Patrick blankly. Brendon’s ignoring the both of them now, helping himself to a can of beans as he scooches closer to the fire. 

“Well-“ Patrick shrugs, looking just as lost as Gerard does. “I mean, no one would willingly leave their life of comfort in the inner walls behind. Unless they’ve done something so bad that the state’s got it coming for their head.” 

“I would. I did.” Gerard’s tone is surprisingly matter-of-fact. He’d left whatever he’d ever known, his entire life behind- and for no real, proper reason whatsoever either. He used to fool around near the borders as a kid, testing his limits, pressing his chubby four-year-old face against the metal bars, but never actually pushing them so fast as to actually step out. The unknown intrigued him, but he never really entertained the notion of leaving until now. Until yesterday. 

He’d made a reckless decision, but before he realised as much, his legs were moving and there was no turning back. 

“Well? What did you do, then?” Gerard turns the question back to Patrick, who merely chuckles in response.

“He-“

“Shut up, Brendon.” There’s no malice in his tone but Brendon pouts, though his face splits into a grin soon after. They’re good friends, Gerard can tell. Patrick’s obviously fond of him- something not many who know Brendon are- and there’s a warm blanket of familiarity between the two. Gerard feels like an outsider in their little bubble. 

“Here.” Patrick picks up another can and tosses it to Gerard, its top already open a crack. He pulls it back, careful not to cut his tender, city-bred fingers as he sniffs at its contents. It’s sour, likely expired, but beggars can’t be choosers. 

He can barely feel the heat from Brendon and Patrick’s clumsily made fire either, but it’s enough for him to have a rough gauge of his surroundings. They’re in a pretty dead-end part of the country too, not another building or soul in the distance for miles, just darkness and sand stretching out from their modest campsite for all of infinity on high. It really seemed like he was in the middle of nowhere, and if not for his two companions, would honestly have been scared shitless. 

What time was it now? Ten, eleven p.m.? What was Mikey doing? Was he having dinner with their mother and father? Was he in bed? Hopefully so. Mikey had been sleeping late nights for the past week. 

Gerard pours the sticky salty substance down his throat and swallows. It’s as sour as it smells, but food is food. His throat constricts tightly at its taste, but he forces it down the hatch anyway, choking back a gag. It’s fucking disgusting. 

Brendon’s finished with his beans and he tosses the can aside, reaching for his guitar. He gives the instrument a few experimental strums and Gerard can’t help but stare, transfixed by the intricate sounds it produces. Brendon’s surprisingly gentle with his guitar too, a completely different side to the usually too loud, too all over the place Brendon Urie. Patrick smiles as he watches his friend play, his own half-finished can of muck abandoned in the sand beside him. 

“So. Any song requests?” Brendon’s obviously pleased by Gerard’s visible earnestness at hearing him play. He’s smiling from ear to ear- really, when is he ever not- and Gerard notices that his teeth are surprisingly straight and pearly white, no trace of yellowing or rot so commonly seen on the smiles (or rather, snarls) of the few desert stragglers he’s encountered.

Maybe that’s a harsh term to use. Besides, Gerard’s as good as one of them now. 

Gerard shakes his head. “I don’t know any songs.” Sure, he knows the city anthem from back home, but the sooner he forgets the wretched tune of that death march, the better. 

“Play him that one,” Patrick pipes up, looking for all the world like a little kid that’s been promised ice cream if he behaves. How old was he anyway? His chestnut brown hair was tucked mostly under a battered old fedora, the rest of which brushed past his plastic black-rimmed glasses that shielded eyes of blue, as blue as the artificial oceans Gerard had had the privilege of accessing back at his old life in Battery City. Patrick wasn’t ugly, by any means- not bad looking actually- but he had a largely forgettable face. Not someone Gerard would remember. He generally seemed like a good kid, though. “The one you wrote with Ryan?”

Gerard’s stomach growls, and against his better judgement, he downs the rest of his ‘dinner’, doing his best to fight back the bile threatening to rise from his throat and cause him to spew all over the place. Brendon isn’t playing yet, observing his discomfort with a pitying look. “How’s the taste? Rating out of five stars?”

Gerard swallows a final time before he hacks twice, in a desperate bid to cough out the acidic taste that was somehow sticking to the back of his throat like tar coating his insides. “Half a star. Is this dog food?”

“You’ll get used to the taste eventually.” Patrick offers Gerard a reassuring clap on the shoulder, and Brendon laughs as he begins to strum the first few chords of whatever song he’s playing. 

Gerard Way finally allows himself to relax as he lets Brendon’s soft singing voice wash over him, muscles he didn’t even realise were tense to begin with starting to loosen up. He’s grateful for the company he has, even if it’s only temporary. A warm shower of calm washes over him, and although he’s out here in the open, possibly in the middle of nothing and nowhere, he feels safe. Safer. No security cameras, no law enforcers, no BL/ind. 

Somehow, somehow, it’s in the vast inky darkness of the unknown stretching out for all of eternity before him where he seems to find the most comfort.


End file.
